Lullabies
by DarthAbby
Summary: Ginny Potter and Ron Weasley are both parents. In one night, Ginny sends James to sleep and Ron comforts Rose in similar manners. Sweet Baby James-James Taylor. Little Miss Magic-Jimmy Buffet. Songfic, Twoshot.
1. Sweet Baby James

**Just a little two-shot idea based on my favorite series and the songs my parents sang to me when I was little.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'Harry Potter'. I don't own 'Sweet Baby James' by James Taylor. I don't own 'Little Miss Magic' by Jimmy Buffet. The only thing I own is my memories and my computer.**

**000**

**Sweet Baby James**

**000**

Ginny Potter frowned as she read through the _Daily Prophet_. Though Voldemort had been defeated several years ago, bad things happened in the world. Especially the Wizarding World.

"Mummy!"

Ginny lowered the paper as the insistent little voice of her first born called her. Little James, with his messy red hair and big hazel eyes, looked up at his mother, clearly unable to sleep.

"What's wrong, James?" she asked, laying the _Prophet_ aside and pulling the three year old into her lap. His lower lip stuck out in a pout as he regarded her with those large eyes.

"I can't fall 'sleep." He said very matter-of-factly.

Ginny gave her son a smile, knowing what he wanted. "And you expect me to sing you a lullaby, I suppose?"

His frown disappeared as he gave her a hopeful smile. Ginny smiled back and pulled him closer, feeling him curl up warmly on her lap, head resting on her chest just like eighteen month old Albus did when he napped in her arms.

Ginny closed her eyes and drew a deep breath before starting to sing softly.

"_There is a young cowboy,_

_Who lives on the range._

_His horse and his cattle,_

_Are his only companions._

_He works in the saddle,_

_And he sleeps in the canyons._

_Waiting for summer,_

_His pastures to change."_

James snuggled closer as his favorite part drew near, Ginny humming the music in between verses.

"_And as the moon rises,_

_He sits by his fire._

_Thinkin' about women,_

_And glasses of beer._

_And closing his eyes as the dowggies retire._

_He sings out a song which is soft,_

_But is clear._

_As if maybe someone could hear."_

Ginny felt James' lips turn up in a smile as the chorus came, which was, in his opinion, the best part.

"_Goodnight, you moonlight ladies._

_Rock-a-bye sweet baby James._

_Deep greens and blues,_

_Are the colors I choose._

_Won't you let me go down in my dreams?_

_And rock-a-bye sweet baby James."_

James let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes as Ginny continued to the next verse.

"_Now the first of December,_

_Was covered with snow._

_So was the turnpike,_

_From Stockbridge to Boston._

_Though the virtues seemed dream-like,_

_On account of that frostin'._

_With ten miles behind me,_

_And ten thousand more to go._

_There's a song that they sing,_

_When they take to the highway._

_A song that they sing,_

_When they take to the sea._

_A song that they sing,_

_Of their home in the sky._

_Maybe you can believe it,_

_If it helps you to sleep._

_But singing works just fine for me."_

Ginny cast a glance down at James as she headed into the chorus again. He seemed to be almost asleep.

"_So goodnight, you moonlight ladies._

_Rock-a-bye sweet baby James._

_Deep greens and blues,_

_Are the colors I choose._

_Won't you let me go down in my dreams?_

_And rock-a-bye sweet baby James."_

Ginny slowly got up and carried James carefully back to his room. She tucked him in gently and briefly pressed her lips against his forehead before turning to leave. She paused at the door again and looked back at his peaceful form, sleeping comfortably, and smiled. If there was any such thing as luck, he would never have to endure the horrors she had as a child. With any luck, he and Albus would grow up safe and happy, along with the other little one Ginny was almost positive she was carrying now. She hadn't told Harry yet, because there really wasn't much proof, but she just had a feeling.

Besides, mothers are usually right about these things.


	2. Little Miss Magic

**Part two of my story of love and lullabies.**

**It's still not mine.**

**000**

**Little Miss Magic**

**000**

Ron Weasley had a headache.

After working a long shift in the Auror office, bringing in a crazy old Death Eater and filing way too much paper work, he had come home to find Hermione in a temper, hormonal from the pregnancy, dinner uncooked, Rose crying over a broken toy, and their old cat, Crookshanks, hissing and spitting at him for accidently stepping on the aging animal's tail.

It was around then that his temples started throbbing.

He had quickly fixed Rose's doll with a simple '_Reparo_', tossed Crookshanks a few treats, given Hermione some chocolate, and warmed up some leftovers for his and Rose's dinner.

"D-Daddy?"

The evening wasn't over yet, though, he though with a soft sigh as a sniffling Rose approached him cautiously. Hermione had left just minutes earlier on one of her angry walks to cool down, which Ron knew might take up to an hour.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he asked, giving his daughter a welcoming smile.

She looked up at him through wet, red eyes, sniffing slightly. "Did I make Mummy mad?"

Ron's heart went out to the two year old. She was always worried about hurting someone's feelings or making them angry. "No, of course not, Rosie. She's just a little stressed, is all. I promise," Ron gave her an understanding smile, "she won't be mad at you when she comes back from her walk."

Rose gave a little nod, still clearly upset. Ron sighed and scooped her up easily in his strong arms. He began to slowly and evenly walk in circles around the kitchen, singing softly to calm her down.

"_Constantly amazed,_

_By the blades of the fan,_

_On the ceiling._

_The clever little glances she gives me,_

_Can't help but be appealing._

_She loves to ride into town,_

_With the top down._

_Feel that warm breeze on,_

_Her gentle skin._

_She is my next of kin."_

As Ron finished the first verse, Rose's sniffles seemed to subside somewhat.

"_I see a little more of me,_

_Everyday._

_I catch a little more mustache,_

_Turning grey._

_Your mother is the only other,_

_Woman for me._

_Little Miss Magic,_

_What'cha gonna be?"_

Rose shifted slightly so that her head rested comfortably against Ron's shoulder and he started the next verse.

"_Sometimes I catch her dreaming,_

_And wonder where that little mind meanders._

_Is she strollin' 'long the shore,_

_Or crusin' over broad savannahs?_

_I know some day,_

_She'll learn to make up her own rhymes._

_Someday she's gonna learn how to fly._

_Oh, that, I won't deny."_

Ron was pleased to notice that the sniffling had completely stopped as he started the chorus again.

"_I catch a little more dialogue,_

_Comin' my way._

_I see those big brown eyes,_

_Just start to lookin' astray._

_Your mother's still the only other,_

_Woman for me._

_Little Miss Magic,_

_What'cha gonna be?"_

Ron hummed the music between verses softly as he cradled Rose in his arms, still pacing the kitchen as smoothly as he could manage.

"_Yes, she loves to ride into town,_

_With the top down._

_Feel that warm breeze on,_

_Her gentle skin._

_She is my next of kin._

_Constantly amazed,_

_By the blades of the fan,_

_On the ceiling._

_Those clever little looks she gives,_

_Just can't help but be appealing._

_I know someday she'll learn,_

_To make up her own rhymes._

_One day she's gonna learn how to fly._

_Oh, that, I won't deny."_

Rose let out a soft, contented sigh, obviously close to sleep, as Ron continued to the next verse.

"_I see a little more of me,_

_Everyday._

_I feel a little more mustache,_

_Turning grey._

_Your mother's still the only other,_

_Woman for me._

_Little Miss Magic,_

_What'cha gonna be?_

_Little Miss Magic,_

_What'cha gonna be?_

_Little Miss Magic,_

_Just can't wait to see."_

Ron turned down the hall leading to Rose's room, humming softly. He gently tucked her in as he finished the song.

"_It's raining,_

_It's pouring,_

_Your old man,_

_Is snoring."_

"I love you, Rosie." He whispered, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

As he left his daughter to sleep in peace, Ron felt better. Everything would turn out alright. This night was a test of his fatherhood as much as it was a test of Hermione's control over her temper.

Ron smiled as the idea that he might have passed a test Hermione had failed came to him. She would be retested again, he was sure, but at least he was confident that he had passed with flying colors.

**000**

**As you might have guessed, my mom would often sing 'Sweet Baby James' by James Taylor to me when I was younger and my dad would sing 'Little Miss Magic' by Jimmy Buffet. Both songs still have a great impact on me today, and bring back fond memories of being held by either one or both of my parents.**

**I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.**


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